The Calm
by Kadi219
Summary: [Janeway/Chakotay] They thought getting home was the hard part, they were wrong, it's learning how to find their new normal that is so difficult.


**The Calm**

**By Kadi**

**Rated: K+**

**Disclaimer:** This is not a sandbox I have played in for a very long time, and it was never mine. I vote for giving the keys to the playground to Beyer, officially and permanently.

**Note:** Written for **Kate04us**, who more than deserves a reward for all her hard work lately.

It's been a long time, almost two decades, since I ventured to this fandom playground. A recent rewatch, the first full one in too many years, has awakened all of my _Voyager_ feels. Then I dove totally and completely into the relaunch novels, most of which I had not read. I had forgotten how much I loved it, and loved these characters. This is a result of my recent trip down memory lane. I hope you enjoy. It takes place before their world went upside down and Beyer had to right it, and ignores the novels completely I suppose (although I've loved everything from _Eternal Tide_ forward).

* * *

It wasn't what she imagined it would be. She had seven years of wondering to compare her reality to, and never in all of those moments, in the wee hours of the night – or the morning depending on the perspective, had she ever imagined _this_. In those moments when her mind had drifted between clarity and sleep, when her defenses were lowered and her unconscious mind was given freedom to roam through all the thoughts, and wants, and fantasies that she kept buried in the deepest recesses of her psyche; when she pictured their homecoming, the accomplishment of the impossible, not even once in seven years had Kathryn Janeway ever thought that it would be largely anticlimactic.

Perhaps it was ego, or pride, or some combination of the two. She expected more, not only for herself but also for those who had held on to the idea of home, for those who were lost along the way, and those who had believed even when a part of her began to doubt.

It all happened so quickly. The debriefings were over in a matter of hours, and their fates decided almost immediately. It would have stung, if not for the state they found the Federation in upon their arrival. They had heard about the war; Command was able to brief them on just how close the Federation had come to annihilation at the hands of the Dominion during their monthly data streams via the Pathfinder Array. They had only just managed to survive when the vultures began to circle, those species that would never have dared before tried to take advantage of what the Dominion had weakened.

Weakened, but not defeated.

They were needed. In the grand scheme of things 146 people were not going to tip the scale in one direction or another, but they were officers and scientists that had returned from the frontier that was the Delta Quadrant with skill sets that could not be overlooked.

In the end, Kathryn was more frustrated than anything else. So many nights were lost to sleepless worrying as she put together her strategy and arguments to defend those members of her crew that had belonged to the Maquis or the Equinox. If Starfleet had just told her up front that this was the plan for them she could have saved herself a lot of headaches, and a lot of rations. Not that she wouldn't have imbibed that much coffee, but just maybe she could have spread it out a little more.

Probably not, but she was going to be annoyed about it just the same.

That wasn't to say that the reality of being home wasn't also wonderful. It was, and she was grateful to be able to reconnect with family and friends, or to walk familiar halls and streets. She would never again take for granted the opportunity to stare out at a field of vibrant green corn stalks, their tassels golden in the summer sun.

It was those dueling emotions of frustration and wonder that had Kathryn leaving her San Francisco apartment when it felt as if the walls were about to close in around her. After seven years in deep space, the thought of having her feet planted firmly on the ground had, initially, seemed like a good idea. Now, though, she was beginning to feel stifled. It wasn't wanderlust, it was stagnation; there were only so many briefs she could read or file, communiqués that she could exchange, diplomatic assignments that she could manage from her desk, before her mind began to drift, and she began to long for the bridge of a starship.

It wasn't purpose that she was seeking. It was escape.

She had thrown a few items into a bag and sought the rolling fields and wide, open skies of Indiana before the tension in her shoulders could grow to a tightness in her chest.

She was neither expected, nor unwanted, and her mother's door would always be open to her. _Home_. It might be more of a feeling than a place, at least according to all the great philosophers, but there was a part of her soul that would always be rooted in Indiana. She thought that seeking that part of herself would help to chase away her unsettled emotions.

She was wrong.

Kathryn had no sooner said hello to her mother than she had left the house again. It was just as well; Gretchen had not planned to be home for the weekend. She would be leaving soon to join friends for an excursion of theater and shopping. Gretchen sensed something in her daughter, though, that told her that Kathryn had not come to see _her. _She had simply come to _be_, in whatever way she could accomplish that. She had long ago learned that like Edward, Kathryn needed to drift until she found her footing again.

It was to be expected, and Gretchen had not needed those Starfleet counselors that were assigned to assist with the reintegration of _Voyager_'s crew with the lives they had left behind to tell her that it was going to take time before her daughter felt like her place in the galaxy was once again secure. Kathryn had been gone for so long, and had experienced things that Gretchen didn't want to imagine, and it stood to reason that she would need time to heal.

If she originally thought that her daughter was leaping back in to work too soon, she felt better now knowing that Kathryn wasn't burying herself entirely in Starfleet matters. Gretchen would leave Kathryn to her musings, and seek her own self-care, content that if she was needed, she was only a transport away.

Kathryn walked beyond the yard, beyond the shade trees that had been planted by the generations of Janeways that had come before her. She walked until she had a completely unfettered view of the fields that, for so long, she could only imagine. It was those thoughts that had helped to sustain her during the long, cold days and nights in the Delta Quadrant. Again she was reminded, though, that her imaginings did not truly compare to the reality.

They were pale, thin wisp of the vibrant beauty that stretched before her. This, at least, was not cause for further annoyance. She sat on the crest of a small hill behind her childhood home; it was a place that she had come to so often that she could almost imagine the very dirt and cool grass beneath her body was welcoming her home.

Clouds had gathered on the horizon, and the sky to the west was deep, dark blue. There was a storm moving in her direction, and she was reminded of a story that she had told, in the not too distance past, of just how utterly terrifying a thunderstorm could be on the plains of her home.

Kathryn drew a breath. It was as if the very sky could sense her unease and the tumult of emotions within, and was preparing to answer in kind. The scent of rain was in the air. It was crisp, but tinged with something electric. She could feel the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand in response. Her eyes closed and she tipped her face toward the sky. Overhead the sun was still shining, although the clouds were growing thicker. The light breeze that she had enjoyed on her walk from the transport station to the house was gone. The air around her felt heavy. It pressed down on her, filled with moisture and heat, and though she felt the flush of it move up her neck, her skin tingled in anticipation.

It was like being caught between two worlds, one the calm, peaceful summer day she was seeking, that which had filled her memory and sustained her through the years when sleep was evasive, worry was a constant companion, and guilt was never far from her side. That other world, the one that she thought she had tried to avoid, it was filled with the vicious turbulence of the storms that had frightened her as a child. She had shied from that world, avoided it at the cost of every shred of herself, or so she had thought. If Kathryn closed her eyes she could picture the dark skies, the whipping limbs of trees caught in tumultuous winds, and the violent slash of lightening across the sky. She could remember the sting of rain as it pummeled her skin and everything around her.

Kathryn opened her eyes, but the storm had not yet reached her. The sky was still darkening, clouds gathering. The air was just beginning to move again. There was something inside her that craved this, needed it. For too long she was caught in the middle, suspended as she clung to duty and responsibility. She needed to live in the storm, to embrace the upheaval, to revel in the melee of her own emotions set free by the very force of nature that had once frightened her.

She had some time yet before the storm would be upon her, and while the planet's atmospheric control system would prevent the more violent storms that had plagued history with damage to life and property some hundreds of years before, nature was allowed to more or less have it's way, and Kathryn knew that it was not safe to be caught out in a thunderstorm. She also knew, though, to the very second how long it would take her to walk back to the house, could recite the number of steps from her spot on the hill to the steps of the back porch where she had watched many a storm in her time. She stayed where she was, felt the quiver of anticipation in her muscles as the first rumblings of thunder reached her ears. The sky overhead turned gray, and as the sun was blotted out by the storm clouds that had gathered, the wind stirred. It caressed her skin, lifted her hair away from her neck, and breathed life into the stillness of her soul.

At the first flash of lightening, Kathryn finally stood. The temperature was beginning to cool now, and the smell of rain had grown stronger. She turned her back on the storm and began walking back to the house. Leaves rustled in the shade trees as their tops began to sway in the rising wind. She reached the steps of the porch as the first few droplets of rain began to fall, and the rumble of thunder drowned out the squeak of the wooden steps as she climbed them. Kathryn's hand gripped the wooden rail when she turned. She drew a breath, and then a second. She counted, quietly, and felt the speed of her heart rate increase as the sky darkened further. She braced for the onslaught. The rain came, faster now, pelting at the grass and dirt, and with another rumble of thunder the bottom fell out, and sheets of rain swept across the land.

Her grip tightened on the porch rail and she leaned forward, as though drawn to it. The wind blew a fine, cool mist toward her, but the eaves of the porch protected her from the falling rain. She heard a door close behind her, although the sound was muffled by the roar of the rain against the roof of the house. She sensed movement behind her and felt the answering shift of the wooden porch planks beneath her feet. Kathryn expected her mother, but the body that joined her was much too large, and as her eyes narrowed to help her see through the blinding rain, she realized that her mother's shuttle was already gone.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said quietly.

In truth, they had not spoken much in recent weeks. It had seemed, upon their return to the Alpha Quadrant, that the friendship they had forged would survive and grow stronger. They had, together, faced his demons and grief at the massacre of Tevlik's moon, and managed to save their crew, the Earth, and most of the Federation from a false Borg collective. Afterward, he had taken her ship… _their_ ship… and rejoined the fleet. Now repaired and refitted, _Voyager_ was once again top of the line, and while some faces had remained the same, an almost entirely new crew walked its corridors. There were only a few to whom she would entrust that ship, and _he_ was at the very top of that incredibly short list.

Kathryn had not expected that time would move so quickly once they returned to the work helping to safeguard and rebuild the Federation. She had been so busy lately that she hadn't even realized that _Voyager_ was back in this sector. What she did realize, with a sudden keen understanding, was that a large part of the emptiness and dullness that she had been feeling was due to his absence in her life. She exhaled quietly as the painful sense of longing flared inside her. She had become so accustomed to ignoring her own wants that she hadn't even realized just how much she had missed him. She had become numb to her own life, and getting home was not the instant cure she might have expected it to be.

She was, as she thought earlier, caught between two worlds.

He joined her at the porch railing. They stood, shoulders almost touching, and he rested his hands against the rail, much as she was doing, and let his eye sweep the chaotic landscape before them. "I called by your office," he said, and pitched the tenor of his voice above the sound of the rain, "your aid told me that he didn't expect you back for a few days. When you weren't at home, I took a chance. Your mother let me in as she was leaving."

There was nowhere else he could think of that she might go if she was not off world. He already knew that she found her apartment in San Francisco functional, if nothing else. It wasn't exactly _home_, and that was a feeling that he understood only too well. Even the time he had spent with his family on his home world had not chased away his sense of displacement. He thought _Voyager_ might do that, and while there was certain comfort at once again residing within those bulkheads, the Captain's quarters that he now inhabited felt foreign to him too. He wondered if they would ever feel like his. He had almost considered trading places with his first officer, but that would raise questions that he was not prepared to answer, and Tom would take a great deal of pleasure in asking most of them.

"Decan." Kathryn sighed again. Sometimes she wondered if her aid knew her better than she knew herself. She could count on one hand the number of people she would acknowledge with that particular level of understanding, and her Vulcan aid was one of them. Her former first officer was another. Kathryn looked at him finally, and realized that there was something a little haggard around the edges. It was something she recognized, a state she saw in her mirror each morning. "Chakotay."

His name was caught on the wind, but he heard her. To the very center of his being she called to him. He was hard pressed to remember a time when she hadn't. His head ducked for just a moment, and when he lifted it again, he offered her a sheepish smile and a half shrug. "I missed you."

They were simple words, but there was an abundance of emotion burning behind his eyes. Kathryn knew, as well as she knew herself, or this house, or the corridors of the ship he now commanded, that he would not push her. He would take whatever she offered him, he would allow it to be a balm to his weariness, and would offer her all of himself in return. He would say nothing when she accepted only a fraction of his gift, and for a time, they would both feel better… until it was time for them to part and the cycle to repeat.

It was exhausting, she realized, and there was an easy and ready cure for it. She lifted a hand and placed it against his chest, as she had countless times before. The course material of his uniform tickled the tips of her fingers. She could feel the warmth of him, the quiet strength, but Kathryn knew there was more that lurked just under the surface. She knew there was a passion in him that he kept carefully contained. She had seen glimpses of it over the years, and to her shame, there were moments when she had tempted his temper for the sake of feeling something, anything, but her own exhaustion and guilt. She had used him to sustain herself and it was a wonder that any part of their friendship had survived; had he walked away from her, she wouldn't have blamed him.

Emotion welled within her, and a sharp ache rose in her throat. It threatened to close off the words she needed to say. Kathryn swallowed hard. Her thumb stroked the area over his heart, and on another flash of lightening she tilted her head at him. "I missed you too."

He lifted a hand and covered hers where it rested against his chest. How many times over the years had he wanted to do just that, clasp her hand in his and draw her closer. She had always drawn away before he could, and his hesitance in those moments had given them the distance they both needed to maintain the barrier of protocol they had agreed was the necessary foundation upon which they had built their successful partnership as a command team. It was a partnership that was no more. If he was honest with himself, Chakotay knew that there was a part of him that was grieving for that loss. They had not always agreed; there were times when they had fought bitterly, and moments when he swore that he hated her, but always there was his commitment to their shared goal. At the end of those disagreements they always managed to find their way back to the deep friendship that he had come to cherish, and knew, she had too. The opposite of love was not hate, it was indifference, and throughout all the years that he had known her, the one thing that he and Kathryn had never been to one another was indifferent.

As his fingers closed around hers, and his thumb stroked the center of her palm, Chakotay took a step closer. He could not pull her to him; she was not his to command, though he had once hoped that when it was all said and done, they would walk the path of this life together. He realized now that hope was still there, for while emotion could be suppressed or ignored, it could not be excised completely. A part of him would always long for her. Maybe it was a trick of the storm, the flash of lightening that was reflected in her eyes, but he thought he saw the same longing staring back at him from eyes that could never hide, at least not from him.

She had honed her Command mask long before he met her, and it was impenetrable, but her eyes had always given her away. Be it anger, or grief, joy, or amusement, it had always shined back at him, beckoned at him to drop his own mask. He drew a breath now, and let it pass his lips on a long sigh. "We thought getting home would be the hard part. I never considered that being here might be more difficult," he admitted.

"Is it?" The gentle caress of his fingers had warmth spreading through her. Kathryn took a step toward him, and whatever distance they usually maintained was completely gone now. Their joined hands rested against his chest, with only centimeters left between their bodies. Her head turned, though, and she kept her gaze on the storm. "Is it home?"

In the thickening of her voice he heard more than the question her words expressed. He heard the doubts that crept into his own mind late at night, when sleep evaded him and his thoughts taunted him with all the things that had gone unsaid, and undone. He never quite felt like he belonged on his home world. He left it seeking his place in the universe. He left Starfleet in defiance of the principles he believed in abandoning his people, and so many others, to the devastation of the Cardassians. Upon their return, he rejoined the fleet because he felt like the sense of peace, the echo of belonging he felt in the Delta Quadrant was due to the vows he made to duty aboard _Voyager_. It eluded him, however, and he thought now that he understood why. It was quite a burden to pin his wellbeing on any one person, especially one that had spent so long bearing the burden of almost 150 souls.

His eyes traced the familiar planes of her face. There were a few more lines around her eyes. She was tired, but gone was the desolate exhaustion she had once worn like a second uniform. The wind lifted her hair, and he was struck by its length since the last time he saw her. He knew that she had started wearing it pinned up again, but today it was pulled back in clasp at her neck. Chakotay reached out with his free hand and wound one of the auburn wisps that had escaped the clip around his finger. The motion drew her attention and she looked up at him again. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. "It is if you want it to be," he said plainly.

Her breath caught. They had never needed many words to communicate and she knew what he was saying, just as plainly as if he had carved it in the wood beneath their feet. She lifted her other hand and grasped his chin gently between her thumb and forefinger. "I want…" But she stopped before she could voice the deepest secrets of her heart. More important was the truth that she could not afford to allow herself to deny any longer. Her jaw clenched, for just a moment, and she shook her head, not to clear it, but to shake off the last vestiges of protocol that had been a shield for so long. "I don't want to lose you," she told him, and thought it was fitting that this admission would come in the middle of one of her wild, homegrown storms. It seemed a perfect reflection of the storm that had been building between them since the early months of their relationship.

He thought about that, because not to would be a disservice for both of them. Chakotay took her other hand in his, and held both of them clasped against his chest. Beneath them she would be able to feel the steady beat of his heart, and the way it quickened as they finally acknowledged everything that had held them both suspended in this life. "That isn't going to happen," he told her, and realized just how true it was. She would always be in his heart, in one form or another. She would be his cherished friend, his brave former Captain, or she would be the place where he found his safe harbor. She could be all of that, and truthfully, she already was. Refusing to admit it didn't make it any less true. "We've already seen the worst of each other," Chakotay reminded her, "and we're still here."

She was reminded of a time when she had drifted too close to the very darkest parts of her nature, and had to admit the truth in his statement. Her fingers tightened around his, and she leaned closer, until their bodies were touching. If she let go, she could admit just how right it felt to have him here, now, when she felt like she was adrift in her own life, like a ship that had fallen victim to still winds. Even as the thought occurred to her the wind howled as it whipped around them, bringing moisture and rain, and a chill that was in stark contrast to the warmth of just an hour ago. She welcomed it, and the change it might represent. "It's not too late?"

That had been her fear. That at the moment her heart was finally free, there would be nothing left for it. Romance wasn't exactly something she had ever been lucky at. She was not someone that felt like she needed a partner to achieve fulfillment in life. In comparison to how long they had been in the Delta Quadrant, the months they had been home were hardly consequential, and so she could readily accept that while she might not feel it now, she would find fulfillment again, in time.

Chakotay let go of one of her hands and reached out to tip her chin up. His thumb stroked the curve of her jaw. He had seen it clenched in anger, or tilted in defiance, but the skin was soft, if damp thanks to the deluge that was soaking the land beyond the house. The corners of his mouth twitched toward a smile, his eyes crinkled with it, because despite the uncertainty, he was sure they both already knew that answer. "You tell me," he replied.

It was as simple as stepping through an open door, so much so that it surprised her. Somehow she always imagined that when they arrived at this moment it would be filled with personal upheaval, not blanketed by a sudden sense of peace and belonging so complete that the real question was how she had not recognized its presence all along. It was always there, just out of reach. All either of them ever had to do was accept it, reach for it together, just as they had any number of other decisions they had made together over the years. She tipped her face toward him and rested her forehead against his cheek. "No," she said, with all the clarity that had settled into her being. "I don't think it ever was." However long it might have taken them to arrive at this moment, it would never have been too late, it just was.

He turned his head slightly, and his lips brushed a place just above her brow. "No," he agreed, grateful that he was not the only one who had come to that realization. He felt her arms circle his waist and folded his around her shoulders. Chakotay pulled her closer, finally, and decided that as long as the universe allowed it, he would never tire of holding her.

They stood like that, for how long, Kathryn didn't know. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours, and since she didn't want to think of anything but _right now_, she decided it didn't matter. Time was not something over which they had control anyway, the events of their homecoming notwithstanding. When Kathryn finally lifted her head from where it rested against his shoulder, it was to meet his gaze. She lifted a hand to his face, and let the tips of her fingers brush his cheek. It was as familiar to her as her own. She tipped her face upward, as he bent toward her, and then they stopped. For just the space of a few heartbeats they waited, breaths mingled. She felt the fingers of one hand move across her shoulder to the nape of her neck. His thumb stroked the skin just behind her left ear and her breath left her on a shuddering sigh.

Their eyes remained locked, even as their noses touched, neither breaking the gaze until the first caress of his lips against hers. She hummed as they touched, softly brushing against one another until the wonder of the moment gave way to the need for exploration. Her lips tingled with each touch, and she sighed in contentment at the teasing feel of his tongue against her bottom lip. Kathryn curled an arm around his neck and when he gripped the back of her head and closed his mouth more firmly over hers, a quiet moan sounded in her throat.

It echoed right through him, that small sound, and with it came a burning desire so strong that Chakotay had to set her away from him, and take a deep calming breath. Her eyes, when he looked at her, were dancing with amusement, but he saw his own desire reflected in their depths. Thunder cracked overhead, so loud that it shook the very foundations of the farmhouse that had withstood hundreds of years of storms. Her brows lifted, and the tilt of her chin gave her a look of defiance that was so familiar to him, he might have been wearing the look himself. Where once they might have thought the world would end if they crossed that particular boundary, it now appeared that it was complaining they had stopped. His lips curved in an answering smile. He pushed his hands into her hair again, and the sound of her clip falling to the deck was lost in another loud, rolling, rumble of thunder. Chakotay turned her away from the porch rail, and his lips found hers again as they moved into the shelter of the house.

Kathryn reached out with one hand and pushed the door closed behind them. They left the storm outside, and as simple as breathing, she chose the world she wanted to live in. He once told her that he found peace at her side. She was touched by those words, but Kathryn wasn't sure that she had ever fully understood the wealth of meaning in them. She did now. He was the calm in the center of the storm that was her life.

Later they would need to talk. There were decisions to be made, and old hurts to be forgiven. Kathryn knew that she already had his absolution for the number of ways that she had used him over the years, just as she had long forgiven him for any pain he may have caused her. She needed him to know, however, that _she _knew that she had injured him. It was how she would finally be able to forgive herself. For now, though, they had said enough, and words were no longer needed to express what they were both feeling.

The philosophers, she decided, were right. Home wasn't a place, and finally, she could feel its warmth again.

~_FIN_


End file.
